


"There's Nothing To Apologize For."

by orphan_account



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Season 3, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 03:27:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2566580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	"There's Nothing To Apologize For."

Felicity tried, once again, to type Oliver’s new appointment for later that week into her tablet, but the screen ran fuzzy as pain shot behind her eyes, forcing them shut. She sighed, setting aside the tablet and laying her head in her hands, working her temples. Her headache had been gradually growing all day, and as the large windows to the sky-rise office danced with the orange glow of the sunset, she felt nauseously dizzy with the pain.

The night before had been hectic after Digg came stumbling into the lair, blood dripping from a knife wound at his side. They managed to patch up the deep cut, but Felicity had stayed up after trying to track the drug dealer that had gotten away and ended up with only a 20-minute power nap in her chair before she had to get ready to come into the office for work.

Felicity didn’t know how long she had been sitting with her head cradled in her hands before she felt Oliver come up behind her in her chair. She lifted her head groggily, giving him a sheepish smile as he looked at her in concern.

“What time did you end up leaving last night?” He asked, a hand on her shoulder as she flinched a bit at his loud voice.

“Not too much later than you did,” she lied, causing Oliver to give her a look.

“Uh-huh,” he said, “Do you want to just call it a day? I’m sure not much will be going on tonight,” he said unconvincingly. Felicity knew she was needed tonight—they couldn’t have Oliver hurt as well as Digg.

“No, I just have this killer headache,” she said, “It should go away soon.”

“Do you want me to get you some coffee or aspirin or something?” Oliver floundered, panicked a bit at her pale skin and dazed eyes.

“I’ve probably had enough of both today to OD,” Felicity tried to joke, but it came out flat.

Oliver studied her as she massaged her temples and forehead, trying to calm the lightning shooting to the backs of her eyes. Before she could comprehend what he was doing, he positioned himself fully behind her, carefully sliding her hair out of the high ponytail it had been secured in.

“Oliver, what are you doing?” she protested, about to move away, but his hands clamped on her shoulders, making her lean back in her chair again.

“If you refuse to go home,” he looked at her in question, and she nodded in agreement with his statement, causing him to sign at her stubbornness, “You can’t walk around with a headache like this. My mom used to rub Thea’s head when she was younger and had migraines,” Oliver slipped Felicity’s glasses off of her face, folding them carefully and placing them on the desk in front of them, “Just sit back. It might make it better.”

Felicity was about to protest again about not needing it when Oliver’s hands slipped into her hair and his nails raked softly across the top of her scalp, causing her eyes to flutter close at the sensation. 

He worked his hands slowly through her hair, starting at the top towards her forehead down to her temples, fingers lightly pressing against her skin and relaxing her. She sighed as the pain started to fade in her forehead and leaned back into his touch. 

When he pulled his fingers from her hair, she almost pouted, thinking he was finished, but, much to her surprise, he carefully took her earrings out of her ears, placing them next to her discarded glasses. He began slowly massaging the soft skin right under her ears and continuing up her earlobes, softly tugging and rubbing. The small tugs should have ached, and would have earlier, but they left a pleasant tingly feeling that made her want to beg him to never stop. A finger paused a little too long on her industrial bar as he regarded it, before continuing along the bottom of her hairline and up into the base of her hair. As he silently worked and scratched her skin, the pain left completely, and she could feel a mixture of heat and discomfort fill her body. Almost a pleasant tickle—it made her want to pull away as much as she wanted to stay.

She felt a lump form in her throat and her mouth dry as she could focus on nothing except Oliver’s skilled fingers in her hair. When he hit a sensitive point right below her hairline, she moaned softly before she could stop herself, and quickly bit down on her lip, controlling others that threatened to spill. She knew he had heard her, as his fingers continued to focus on that spot and she tried not to writhe in her seat. She knew she should be panicking—she was sitting in her office chair, moaning as Oliver massaged her. She knew she was more turned on than she should be, considering she was dating Ray, and Oliver didn’t want to be with her, but she couldn’t find the will to stop him.

That is, until his thumb slipped under the top of her dress onto her back, causing a wave of heat to engulf her body, and the sensation shocked her, making her jerk. She clamped her legs together swiftly, realizing they had spread slightly open without her knowing, and tried to ignore pleasant feeling of friction as her legs rubbed together. She spun immediately in her chair to halt his hands, knowing that any longer and she wouldn’t be able to control herself.

“Oliver,” she said urgently, but her voice came out husky and rough, her throat dry. She turned and met his gaze, and he nodded simply, gesturing for her to turn back around. She looked at him in confusion.

“You’re hair is… a little out of sorts. I’ll fix it,” Oliver said, and Felicity noticed that his voice was affected as well as he cleared his throat. He reached his hands into her hair again after she had hesitantly turned around, but this time he worked a while at untangling it slowly, before he braided it loosely for her.

He turned her back to face him when he finished, “My mom always braided Thea’s hair after too—said it wasn’t as heavy that way.”

Felicity felt her heart constrict a bit as Oliver looked at her and played with the bottom of the braid he had made. These moments of vulnerability were rare with him, but they reminded her of the man she had fallen for. It was times like these— when he would tell her a little snippet of his life that nobody knew; when his eyes were clear of the pain and fear they normally held— that she was certain he was the greatest, kindest, and sweetest man she had ever known, and it elated her that he let her see those sides of him. As he looked down at her, he wasn’t Oliver Queen: CEO, or the Green Arrow. He was just Oliver.

As he smiled at her lightly she knew that, at least for a small moment, he had managed to forget all the loss in his life and push aside the grief. He had talked about his mother as though he didn’t blame himself for her death. Talked about Thea as if she hadn’t up and left; hadn’t chosen Malcolm Merlyn over him. Looked at Felicity as if he would allow himself to love her, instead of pushing her away. 

In front of Felicity stood the man she had missed the last couple of months and the man she knew would return again, someday. In that small moment, Oliver Queen was free.

And as simply a man, he leaned down and gave Felicity a soft, lingering kiss, of lovers allowed to be. A kiss that felt as natural as breathing, but was still so unexpected it took her breath away. 

When he pulled back he smiled at her, caught in the moment, but slowly, ever so slowly, Felicity watched as reality seeped into his daze. As the vulnerability left his eyes. As his freedom was locked away, and he retreated into himself. He cupped her face one last time, and shook his head lightly, head bowed.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, pulling the hand away and putting distance between them. Felicity knew she should be mad that he had made her feel this way again, just when she was beginning to move on, but as she watched the pain and sorrow fill his eyes at his mistake, she couldn’t be mad. Not at Oliver. Not ever.

As she watched the disgust and grief remove any softness he held a moment earlier, she knew that she had to protect him from his own self-destruction. He needed her to move on. He needed her to be with someone else. And it was because of this—because she knew it would kill him to see her hurt— that she was able to ignore the constricted feeling in her throat, blink back the scratch of tears that threatened in her eyes, and smile at him.

“There’s nothing to apologize for.”


End file.
